Wicked
by DMitchell
Summary: Hermione has completely given in to her harmless crush on Professor Snape. Will it truly be harmless, and is she the only one with an infatuation? ::DISCONTINUED::
1. Of Consequence

**Story Title:** Wicked

**Chapter Title:** Of Consequence (1/?)

**Author:** DMitchell1985

**Beta:** Currently unbeta'd

**Story Genre:** Angst, Romance, Drama, First-Person (genre?), Alternate Universe

**Story Rating/Chapter Rating:** PG-13 - for language (might go higher, but I sincerely doubt it)/ PG - for tiny innuendos

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Harry Potter_ or any of the characters. I do not make money from the posting/writing of my story as payments, just reviews.

**Summary:** Hermione has completely given in to her obsessive adoration of Severus Snape. Though she appears to be the only one delving into the area of forbidden thought, she is most certainly not alone in her thinking. Will the mutual attractions come to be known by both parties, and lead to a fiery relationship of sex, romance, and secrets, or will all parties involved be burnt by a "harmless crush"?

**Warnings:** None really, just the occasional curse word or two, or three, whatever. . . lol

**Pairings:** Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Catherine Sullivan (OFC) /Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Gregory Goyle

**Email:** betagirl23 at yahoo dot com

**Website:** livejournal . com / users / dmitchell1985 (san the spaces)

**Author's Notes:** This is an AU story. I believe that I warned people of that fact with "Shadow" and "Obsession", but it wasn't noted and a few people were, well confused/upset about my Hermione having red hair. In this story, she simply is going to have red hair, be a Ravenclaw, and she was not close friends with Harry and Ron from early on. If these change in details are not to your liking, please stop reading now. Other than this, I definitely believe this is one of the more juicy chapters in the series. I have slightly altered the set up of the storytelling. For further ANs on why exactly did I change the canon details that I did, see the end of the chapter. - Danielle

**-**

" So kind of you to join me, Miss Granger. Do have a seat," he waves his hand toward a black stuffed leather chair across from his desk in the same office I stormed out of last night.  
  
I raise my eyebrows defiantly. "Sex appeal or not, I shall not appear abowed before him. He may be accustomed to having his way with Mindy, the Brainless Wonder, but things will not be so easy with me," I assert silently, letting my eyebrows show the only outward sign of my intent to rebel against his fury.  
  
"I see that you are most unapologetic about your childish behavior last night. Slamming doors? I would have liked to believe that type of behavior was beneath you. You with your _intelligence_ and all. What do you have to say for yourself?" he eyes me shrewdly.  
  
I huff and shift my eyes to a painting of a crimson explosion on the wall to the left of the office's main entrance.  
  
"Nothing? Quite a brazen rule-breaker you've become, as of late. Could it be considered conceivable that your budding friendship with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley has helped to transfer some of the boys' disregard for this intitution's restrictions to you?"  
  
I open my mouth to defend Harry and Ron, but I ice the fire that enflames my irises instead, and snap my mouth shut. I don't have to answer _him_. What ever I say will only be twisted and perverted to his means.  
  
A predatory smile stretches across his teeth, baring his canines. "He looks as though he's closing in for a kill," I notice his right eyebrow rise as I think over the situation I have gotten myself into.  
  
_"He probably is,"_ that same inner voice hisses.  
  
"So, you do posess the capacity to respond when spoken to. I was beginning to fear that I might have to force a response out of you, by deducting 5 points from Ravenclaw everytime you did not answer me."  
  
"You can't do that!" I react before I can stop myself.  
  
"Oh, but I can, and I shall. Now, what do you have to say in your defense?"  
  
"I simply was not pleased with hearing about your tongue's ambitious activities any further."  
  
"And that gave you pause to slam my door?" he elevated his brows again.  
  
"_Must_ he do that?!" I scream to myself.  
  
I feel my chest tighten and my body grow hot. My fingertips brush my eyelashes that are fluttering in frustration. Does he have any idea what affect he has on me? Probably so. He is, after all, adept at Legilmency.  
  
"I suppose not," I answer belatedly, digging my nails into my palm, causing deep half moons to form.  
  
"Then why did you do it? I would be in favor of punishing you further myself, but that does not appear to gain the desired effect on you. I believe that I should inform your Head of House of your recent actions," he looks me over gingerly, "I am getting weary watching you fidget, sit down. If you are wondering, that was not an offer, Miss Granger."  
  
I lower myself into the nearest chair, not taking my eyes off of the dark vision of masculinity in front of me.  
  
"Do you agree that I should proceed to consulting Professor Flitwick about your behavior?"  
  
"No, I do not believe that will be necessary."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Well, yes," I sigh, "Maybe I. . . could do some more work for you. Clean some potion bottles, sweep your classroom, or something else."   
  
I momentarily weigh the disappointment of Professor Flitwick over having to bury my pride. I quickly toss away the notion of not attempting to satisfy his unquenchable appetite for reprimanding me, whether I deserve it or not. Better to suck it up, than to let Professor Flitwick be informed of my indiscretions.  
  
"Some. . .thing. . .else?" he rolls the words over his tongue, tasting them and their numerous meanings before releasing them into the air, "What could that mean, Miss Granger?"  
  
"Um, well, I could clean more cauldrons," I stammer, searching through my mind for tasks to complete without verbally revealing my true definition of "some thing."  
  
I feel him shifting through my thoughts, again, so, I terminate my current line of thought. _He cannot see.  
  
_He sighs and leans back in his chair comfortably, "As you wish, Miss Granger. You shall sweep my classroom and clean the potion supplies in my laboratory, along with those stored in my classroom. But be warned Miss Granger, should another talk, such as this one be required, it will occur in the presense of your Head of House."  
  
He pauses to wrap his regard around my face once more, "I suspect that it is almost time for Lunch. There's no point in returning to class, go to the Great Hall."  
  
I nod, rise, and walk to the door. I grasp the door knob, not yet turning it. I look over my shoulder, scrutinizing the object of my lust, "By the way, congratulations on the engagement, Professor."  
  
He inclines his head, and I pull the door open. I step out into the hallway, feeling his gaze linger on me longer than required to bid me farewell. I tug the door closed, and listen to the delicate click of metal meeting sister metal before slumping against the door for support.  
  
"Gods. . . " I breathe aloud softly.  
  
I push off of my anchor to trudge to the Great Hall, alone.

**-  
**  
_"By the way, congratulations on the engagement, Professor."_  
  
Her words envelope me as I watch her close the door to my office. The scent of her perfume floats across the room to dance around my nostrils. I breathe in the feminine floral scent, and sigh in content. Such passion. Such fire. So intelligent, yet untamed. _Untouched_, and wholly desirable.  
  
I heave my tired body out of my chair to pour myself a glass of liquor. I know that I am going to need a bit of a nip if I am to continue to the Great Hall, and appear somewhat "normal."  
  
"What part of me suddenly decided that it was okay to lust after a student?" I ask myself, "I am perfectly happy with Catherine. She will make a beautiful wife, but she does not burn with a tenth of the inner fire that Miss Granger, _Hermione_, does."  
  
I listen to the chime of the bell alerting the school of the Lunch period.  
  
Unresolved longing twists in my chest. "Hermione," I whisper to the empty room.  
  
I stroll to my office's door, exiting through it, and set the wards that protect my office in place before the chime can complete its reverberation.  
  
"I guess that I'll have that drink later," I promise myself.  
  
I hold my arms to my sides stiffly, and navigate the jumbled throng of students to enter the staff hallway that leads to the Head Tables' entrance.  
  
"Though my sex life with Catherine is, agreeable, she is nowhere near as adventurous as I hoped. I thought she could be trained, but perhaps not," I muse, noting the crisp click of my boots' heels on the hall's marble floor.  
  
"I wonder if Miss Granger would present a more stimulating pursuit. No doubt that she would," I surmise.  
  
As I near the Great Hall entrance, I draw a solid breath and nod an acknowledgement to Minerva. I step across the threshold into the sunlit hall. I storm directly to my seat, sneering at any student who dares to look me in the eye. The nerve.  
  
I take my seat, and listen impatiently as a toast is proposed.  
  
"At Lunch?!" I think irritated.  
  
"To Dumbledore!" Hagrid shouts enthusiastically.  
  
"To forbidden lust," I toast in silent unison, my eyes finding Hermione at the Ravenclaw table, "To forbidden lust indeed."

**-**

**TBC**

-

**Author's Notes 2/Open Letter to Readers:** I have received more than a few emails from pople wanting to know about the AU nature of this story. Quite simply, this story is me just having fun with a series that I love, inspired by an excellent author, J.K. Rowling.

It started as a surprise project that grew from a little blurb story ("Obsession'). I wanted to explore what would happen if everything we know about the _Harry Potter_ world did not occur quite the same as it did in the books, and not from Harry's point of view. I wanted to write a challenging (for me) story in which I actively took on the voice of each character, and described the scenes, thoughts, feeling, etc. from their personal point of view. I got this idea from a wonderfully heartfelt story I read once, and wanted to give it a shot.

As to why Hermione is a Ravenclaw in this story is quite simple, she could have easily been one. In fact, in the fifth book another student asks her why she was not Sorted into Ravenclaw. She told the student that the hat told her she could have gone there. Frankly, she posesses the key qualities of a Ravenclaw. She is frighteningly intelligent, and she is willing to aggressively go after her goals. If you wish to tell me that aggressive focus on one's goals is not a strong Ravenclaw quality, I would tell you to look at the way they play Quidditch.

Also, the Hermione in my story has reddish hair because the girl cast in the films has this reddish-brown hair, and I love red heads. Who doesn't? They're hot.

Anyway, I hope that I answered any lingering questions about the story in general and that you are able to enjoy the story despite (inspite!) of the changes I made. I will do my best to stay canon as possible, but I can help changing a few things.

Sincerely yours,

Danielle


	2. The Value of Friendship

**Story Title: **Wicked

**Chapter Title: **The Value of Friendship (2/?)

**Chapter Rating: **PG - for mention of death

**Author's Note: **Stay with me if this chapter seems a bit off. It has a few clues that I will need later on. Also, I created a spell. The translation is at the bottom of the page.

**-**

I sink lower in my chair, and mentally leaf among my options for an apprenticeship following my graduation.  
  
Transfigurations? Charms? _Potions?_ Defense Against The Dark Arts? Better yet, Arithmancy.  
  
"If I choose Charms, I'd play into my strongest natural ability," I reason. "but I could always use protection from some of the nastier hexes and curses. The War is coming to a head, and I need to be prepared. If the situation comes to the worst end, I could always become an Auror."  
  
"Miss Granger," an exasperated voice sounds from the front of the classroom, as though this is not the first time my name has been called.  
  
"Yes, Professor McGonagall?"  
  
"It is wonderful to finally have your attention."  
  
My cheeks tint at the admonishment.  
  
"Would you please demonstrate for the class how to transfigure water into glass?"  
  
"Su. . . sure," I reply hazily, my mind still on my apprenticeship choices.  
  
I stare down at my glass of water, and try to concentrate on the entire week's worth of lessons on transfiguring liquids. I exhale as I pull my wand from its hidden confine inside my school robe. I grip the base of my wand, and point to the half-full drinking glass.  
  
I sift my way throughout the entirety of my memories until I summon the water-to-glass incantation. I wave my wand through the air, "Vitreusum! (1)"  
  
The water instantly solidifies into crystalline perfection that fills the bottom half of my assigned glass.  
  
"Excellent work Miss Granger. I hope that everyone's attention to liquid-to-soild examples has improved from the lacking form it has been in this week. There will be a quiz next week. I strongly suggest that the majority of the students present in this classroom ensures that their Advanced Transfiguration textbooks becomes their constant companions. Use the last few minutes of class constructively. You are free to go when the bell rings."  
  
Professor McGonagall strides to my desk to collect my glass, in a glass. She looks down at me and speaks so that only I can hear, "See me after class, Hermione." She smiles faintly at me.  
  
"Yes ma'am, Professor McGonagall."  
  
"And 10 points to Ravenclaw," she says loud enough for everyone to hear.  
  
Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker, grins at me. I feel myself flush instinctively.  
  
I notice that more than a few Slytherins are openly glaring at me, including Vincent Crabbe and Draco Malfoy. I also notice that Gregory Goyle's face does not hold the same irritated expression as his mates. In fact, for a moment, I believe that I can distinguish a ghost of an encouraging smile directed at me. It is gone too soon for me to be sure.  
  
My eyes return to Malfoy and Crabbe. "Good, let them be upset. So much for their glorified Slytherin cunning. It didn't help either of them accomplish a complicated Transfiguration technique," I inwardly gloat with carefully cloaked satisfaction masking any outward traces of the thought on my face.  
  
The bell sounds, and the low chatter in the classroom jumps to full force roar. Amidst the shoving and noisy conversation, a few pats on my back and well-wishing comments are thrown in.  
  
"Way to go Hermione," Harry congratulates me. "We really should have pushed to have you Sorted into Gryffindor."  
  
I beam my most gracious smile at Harry in return, "Aw, then Ravenclaw would have missed out on having me, and that is, dare I say it, unthinkable." I stage-gasp for emphasis.  
  
"I can live with that knowledge," Harry assures me.  
  
" I know that I certainly could. Good job, by the way," Ron commented moodily.  
  
"Oh hush! Honestly, attempting to deprive Ravenclaw of sheer genius!"  
  
Harry and Ron share a look before turning their eyes to me.  
  
"Genius?" Harry teases. "I don't know if I would go that far."  
  
I smirk at them again, "Hey, I'll meet you guys at the usual place, okay? I just have something to see to first."  
  
"Okay," they exclaim together, jinxing one another as they do so.  
  
"Jinx!" they call out together again.  
  
"I said it first!" Harry proclaimed, nudging Ron.  
  
"No, I called jinx first," Ron told Harry.  
  
I dart my eyes between the two Seventh Years, who were currently behaving worse than they did their first year at Hogwarts, with amusement glowing on my face. I shake my head and whirl to face Professor McGonagall to gauge her reaction. I note the delighted expression that has settled across her face.  
  
"If you do not mind, gentlemen, I do need to speak with Miss Granger in peace," the Deputy Headmistress interjected, breaking the growing momentum of the tiff.  
  
I muffle my laughter at the ridiculousness of the entire situation through a forced cough, "Yes, I agree whole heartedly. Gentlemen, please take your disagreement elsewhere." A smile lingers on my lips, and the boys stare at me with mock anger.  
  
"Well! If that's the way you feel. . . " Harry began.  
  
"then maybe we will leave," Ron finished.  
  
It is in this moment of comfortable silliness I realize how much I have come to care about them. My eyes remain on them as they shuffle to the exit, still carrying on their exaggerated spat.  
  
I chuckle again and hear Professor McGonagall do the same.  
  
"They are quite a pair," she says to me.  
  
"That they are," I agree instantly.  
  
"It's so nice to see you relaxed and willing to share a laugh with people your own age Hermione," she shoots a pointed glance in my direction.  
  
I detect the leftover tremors of amusement that crinkle the corners of the older witch's mouth and eyes from my side view of her face. I close my eyes to even my breathing. I return my gaze to her completely when I have regained my composure.  
  
"I know," I whisper sadly.  
  
"Let's have a seat," she motions to the students' desks.  
  
"Of course," I reply without thought.  
  
Once we are seated, she resumes where she left off, "I value your intellect more than nearly anyone I can think of, but I was sincerely beginning to worry."  
  
"About?" I ask her, concern lacing it's way through my voice.  
  
"You Hermione. Knowledge obtained from books can carry you so far in the world outside of school and magic. I was surprised, and greatly relieved, when you became close friends with Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter. Though I know that some students prefer to find friendship within their own Houses, I think a breaking of initial expectation has been good for you, and them," she smiles maternally at me.  
  
I feel the warm radiance of her expression caress every nerve ending in my body. It's times like these that I value her guidance and my friendship with her even more. She always knows precisely what to say, and when to say it, no less.  
  
I thank her for her sentiment and tell her I believe the same to be true of our friendship.  
  
"I suppose that you need to go now, but there is one other thing that I have meant to address since it took place."  
  
I nod to encourage her to continue.  
  
"Not only has this friendship been beneficial to the three of you on a more superficial level, but also you've helped them work through their grief. One does not simply bounce back after the loss of a close friend, especially Harry after his parents' deaths. Tabitha should have never been where she was," she stops to collect herself. "or she would still be alive today. I wanted to thank you for looking after my Gryffindors."  
  
She reached out an elegant hand to squeeze my own. I return the gesture in earnest. I can feel the familiar prick of tears at the corners of my own eyes.  
  
"I mourned her too Professor," I answer her mentally. "I knew her too, but what had to be done had to be done."  
  
We clear our throats together and sit up straighter to reset the formality of the relationship.  
  
"I guess I will be going now Professor." I tell her with six years of habit engraining the words in my mind and on my lips.  
  
She nods politely, "I will see you in class Miss Granger. Do not be tardy."  
  
She winks at me, and sweeps out of the room through a back door.  
  
I grin to myself and march out into the hallway. My ears recognize the low woosh of a ghost's approach drawing near from around a corner to my right. I am excited to see that it is Ravenclaw's Grey Lady who appears a few seconds later.  
  
"Hello," I greet her cheerfully, not expecting a reply.  
  
She halts and looks at me as if trying to read me with her translucent scrutiny. "Hello," she replies cautiously.  
  
I am too stunned to say more, and she whisks past me and out of the stiff silence.  
  
"She spoke to me," I utter to the empty air.  
  
Nearly Headless Nick floats through a wall, spotting me. "Hello!" he shouts heartily.  
  
"Hello Sir Nick. You just missed it," I inform him proudly.  
  
"Missed what?" he asks genuinely interested.  
  
"The Grey Lady spoke to me."  
  
"Yes, we do that sometimes."  
  
"But the Grey Lady never speaks to anyone, not even her own Ravenclaws the way you do with your Gryffindors."  
  
"Then perhaps she has seen something special in you for her to have done so. She does have the gifts of Divination and Legilimency after all. I must be off," he drifts to the wall opposite of him, leaving me as I was before his arrival, alone. Always, alone.  
  
"Something special inside of me. . . " I repeat the words aloud. The words do not seem quite real. Maybe they do hold some truth.  
  
I decide to keep the incident in mind when I remember that Harry and Ron are still waiting for me in Hagrid's hut. I hurry my steps down the hallway to meet them.  
  
I burst out of a stone-arched doorway and into the sunlight. I laugh quietly to myself, letting the sun sun rays wash over me. I kick my feet through the grass as I begin to run to Hagrid's hut. Cloak whipping out and around me, I have a feeling that this may be the beginning of a wonderful school year.  
  
-**  
  
TBC  
-**

**(1) - Vitreusum - **

Latin for "glass", more specifically "of glass",

"glittering", "glassy", and "transparent"**  
**


	3. ObservationTVOF Pt 2

**Story Title:** Wicked

**Chapter Title:** Observation/The Value of Friendship Pt. 2 (3/?)

**Chapter Rating:** PG-13- for references to sex

**Warnings:** References to sex and tiny book spoilers.

**Author's Notes:** I hope that this chapter goes over well. Parts were a tad bit tricky. I want everything to sort of flow and set up the plot. I added my Yahoo! Group web address to my profile (finally!), so if you know anyone that loves several celebrities and wants a place to chat about all of them, tell them to go by the group. I spent most of the time it's been open adding fun little features that I like to see in a group before really attempting to advertise the group. There is now a profile on me to read (go figure. . .), as I **never** make those. It'a simple bit really. (Both of which should be up sometime today, I hope. . . ) Also, I want to send a thank you to everyone that has been reviewing, and has added me to their Favorites and Author Notice lists. **(G 14 The Real One, JoJo the Jellyfish, Xel Black, we3, Sammy Riddle Voldemort's Baby, and last but certainly not least, Natsuyori Thanks guys!)** That means the world to me. One last thing, sorry that the ANs are soooo long. -Danielle

-

I watch the Granger girl run across one of the numerous open grass courtyards that surround the castle.  
  
_"Where is she going?"  
  
_The question is not allowed time to simmer, before I discern the direction of her jaunt. Hagrid's hut.  
  
I feel my chest heave and twist. Hagrid's hut. The girl has recently been going there, and those two irritants she now calls friends have always been in attendance as well.  
  
_"One of those irritants protects the future of the entire wizarding world," _a subtle whisper calls to me low enough that it could be easily ignored. I still hear it, and reason that it does have a valid point, no matter how much I wish it not to.  
  
I tap my fingertips on the end of my chin considering the irony of it all.  
  
Though I have pledged to potect The Boy, I would certainly not object to the boy disappearing to parts unknown, and taking the Weasley boy with him. Even the Longbottom idiot would be a prime candidate for a disappearance as well. Of course I would prefer for them to be safe, but I would also prefer not to have to look at them every day.  
  
My mind drifts into reverie, imagining a world without Potter or his shadow, while my eyes follow the girl's path.  
  
"I wonder what they do in there," I ponder the most reasonable options. "Surely they can't be doing anything truly immoral in Hagrid's presense. As half-baked as he is, he wouldn't permit an orgy or Dark cermonies to occur within his quarters. Or would he?"  
  
I quickly abandon the absurd notion.  
  
"The man respects, and probably fears, Dumbledore too much to do such a thing. No, they must be playing a simpleton's game, _wizard's chess,_ or some other such nonsense," I conclude.  
  
Pleased with my rationale, I move away from the window to head to my office. I have papers to grade.  
  
- I could swear bullets that I can feel someone's gaze upon me as jog to Hagrid's hut. I realize that it is most un-ladylike to run in my uniform skirt and heels, but I cannot be bothered to waste a thought on appearances or protocol. The Grey Lady spoke to me! If she can see something special inside of me, surely _he_ can too.  
  
I leap up the few steps that separate me from Hagrid's door. I rap my knuckles on the slab of wood, and back off of the steps to wait for the door to swing open to me.  
  
I can already hear the boys' raucous laughter rising and falling in a welcoming tempo on the other side of the door.  
  
"Hagrid must be telling one of his stories again," I deduce from the sudden spike in the rhythm of the laughter inside the hut.  
  
My stomach jumps in response when the door finally opens to me.  
  
"Well hello Hermione! Come in," Hagrid says to me as he shuffles back to his seat.  
  
I tiptoe into the dim hut, not wanting to seem too forward, or knock over anything. Since I have not been here very many times before today, I am still weary of how to hold myself in such an intimate setting with three males and no prying eyes. I count the occasions when I have come to see Hagrid with Ron and Harry, and get a total of three times, counting today's visit.  
  
"Hermione!" Ron's face lights up as my name crosses his lips. The same enchanting lips that purse just so when he sulks, or when Gryffindor loses a game, or when he finds out that I have gone out with someone other than himself. He hates to lose in any fashion, including not having me.  
  
I knew from the moment we bet briefly seven years ago that he was smitten with me. How could I have not known? The looks of longing mixed with those of jealously when I answered yet another question correctly. The ackward hugs shared after yet another triumph over yet another evil that seemed to always pop up at Hogwarts every year, the laughable formality with which he addresses me, even the time he tried to defend me from Malfoy Second Year, and ended up eating slugs himself in place of Malfoy. Yes, I knew, I've always known.  
  
I know that we would have been together years ago if I had not developed crushes on our former Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, or the unfornate string of Slytherins I have always managed to have the misfortune of falling for. What can I say, I have always fancied a bit of danger in my life. Now, it was _him_.  
  
"Hey Ron!" I answer brightly. "Hey Harry. How you doing Hagrid? No, let me correct myself, Professor Hagrid."  
I smile and plop down on the wall-length bench next to one of my favorite redheads.  
  
"Now Hermione, yer know yer don' have ter call me that."  
  
"Of course I do, Professor Hagrid," I snicker, enjoying the coloring I cause to engulf Hagrid's cheeks without the aid of alcohol.  
  
"Hermione. . . " he simply shakes his head at me.  
  
I laugh again, encouraged by Hagrid's flustered response to my academic address.  
  
"So what things did you need to take care of with McGonagall?" Harry asks me, taking advantage of the pause in conversation.  
  
My smile evens immediately. "Not much. She offered a few words of advice."  
  
"What kind of advice?" Ron looks at me questioningly as he blatantly ignores my attempted polite side-step of Harry's question.  
  
"Nothing really. So what do you boys have planned? You are always looking to drag me into trouble with you," I inquire in an effort to change the subject.  
  
"Us?" Ron and Harry shriek together.  
  
They turn to one another calling out a synchronized 'Jinx' for the second time in the past half hour.  
  
I groan under my breath,"I would rather not have this conversation again. I cannot, and most importantly, will not, sit here and listen to the two of you carry on like children."  
  
"Children?!" once more they respond together.  
  
I pinch the bridge of my nose and consider suggesting to my newly acquired companions that they join the school choir if they insist upon constantly speaking together. I bite back the comment to ensure that we do not get a further trivial argument over a joke.  
  
"You both know I am teasing the two of you. I only tease because I have come to tolerate you," I smirk at them.  
  
"Oh, tolorate. How flattering," Ron quips and settles back against the wall behind him.  
  
"It is. Now," I sigh. "I've been thinking about my, well, _our_ options following graduation. I was thinking of an apprenticeship."  
  
"I considered an apprenticeship myself, but I think I'd rather work for the Ministry of Magic. My dad and brother already work there. I figure I could go into one of their departments. What kind of apprenticeship were you thinking of?" Ron furrows his brow at me in absolute concentration on the topic being discussed.  
  
I recognize the beginnings of a chuckle at the seriousness Ron displayed forming in the back of my throat, and clear it to halt its growth.  
  
"I was thinking about quite a few areas of study actually. I seem to be naturally best at Charms. Remember that feather from First Year?"  
  
"Oh yeah, in Professor Flitwick's class. Wingardium Leviosa right?" Harry drew up the memory.  
  
"Yes, exactly, but I have also been making immense progress in Transfiguration, and Arithmancy as well."  
  
"I'll say. Water to glass. I wish that I could transfigure water into _anything_ on my first try," Ron prompted his lip to quiver in a false pout.  
  
I do not hold back a light laugh this time, "You know that I am able to the things I do because I practice, and study. You could try it too you know."  
  
Ron punches me on my right arm with less force that I expect.  
  
"I don't know what I'd like to do honestly. I thought about being a professional Quidditch player, but everyone wants to do that. Plus, I'd be wasting my wizarding skills," Harry cuts in.  
  
I take into account what Harry has just said, "You are correct. Someone as powerful as you will be needed for greater things than riding on a broomstick. You will, no doubtably, go on to fulfill the prophecy; yet, I believe I am in agreement with you. You deserve to do more with your life than to only be known as The Boy Who Lived, and will go on to eventually completely finish out Voldemort."  
  
"Hermione! You know we don' speak his name!" Hagrid cries, shocked by my disregard for Wizarding London's superstition.  
  
"Yes, yes, I know, but what harm can come from speaking a name?" I assert.  
  
"We don' want ter know," Hagrid says in a sober, hollow tone.  
  
"I did not wish to imply otherwise. OK, You-Know-Who. You shouldn't only live to rid the Wizarding, and Muggle worlds, of him," I tell Harry earnestly.  
  
Ron nods his head in agreement, "You should be known for something that has nothing to do with him. Have you thought about staying at Hogwarts?"  
  
"I have, but what would I do?" Harry scrunches up his face at his own words.  
  
"Plenty, I'm sure," Ron mustered through a half smile.  
  
"Well, I. . . "  
  
My sentence is cut off by the evening meal bell.  
  
"There's dinner!" Hagrid chimes throughly thrilled.  
  
"We'll walk with you to the Hall. It's too bad that you can't sit at the Gryffindor table with us," Ron tells me, rising to his feet.  
  
"You don't give up easily on trying to steal me away from Ravenclaw, do you?" I ask, readying myself to depart. I look down at my books and wish that I had dropped them off at Ravenclaw Tower before coming here when I realize that they will have to accompany me to dinner.  
  
"It's never to late for the Sorting Hat to redistribute students," Ron tickles me playfully.  
  
"Oh, I _know_ it is," I respond in an uncharacteristic giggle to Ron's attentions.  
  
"If the two of you are finished with all this chattering, I'd like to eat now," Harry pushes the door open and steps out of Hagrid's hut.  
  
Hagrid followed him out and called to me and Ron, "Yea, I don' want ter miss any o' the announcements and such."  
  
I brush past Ron with a mischievous wink as I exit the hut,"What announcements Hagrid?"  
  
"Um, well, ther' may not be any announcements spurcifically. Just in case y'know."  
  
"I think you know more than you are telling us," Ron points out as he closed the door behind him.  
  
Hagrid shakes his head, fluffing his lengthy mane and beard in the process, before speeding up to catch up with Harry, who had already reached the castle's arched doorway.  
  
Ron and I glance at one another before speaking the same thought together, "He knows something."  
  
We laugh together companionably, and hurry to join the rest of the school for dinner.  
  
-  
  
My eyes land on Hermione as soon as she enters the Great Hall. I note, with dissatisfaction, that she seems to find something Mr. Weasley has said to her amusing.  
  
They always appear rather engaged with one another since they have begun spending more time together.  
  
It was not been a secret that the Weasley boy longed for her. I wonder if, after all the years spent here at Hogwarts, something has finally come of Weasley's fascination with her.  
  
I suppress the urge to sigh openly in relief when they part to dine at their Houses' respective tables. I scowl at several students facing the High Table.  
  
I pick up my fork and wait for tonight's annoucement. My eyes slide over to Hagrid. The hairy oaf had been excited about the "news" since Albus told the staff this morning in a meeting. How great is a dance?  
  
My mind wanders back to the last dance Hogwarts held. "I'm certain that Viktor Krum shall not be in attendance this time as Hermione's date, not after the trouble he got into with Karkaroff for attending a ball at the much-hated Hogwarts with a Muggle-born," I reflect confidently.  
  
I watch the tables fill with magically summoned food, and feel my stomach's growls spike in anticipation.  
  
"I should keep more food on hand," I resolve, placing a selection of the food nearest to me on my plate, and stabbing at it harder than necessary and begin to eat.  
  
I remember that I still need to add one last component to a burn heal ointment I promised Madame Pomfrey. I rush through my meal in order go complete the ointment, and give the entire ointment enough time to simmer.  
  
With one last glance toward Hermione, I push my chair back. As I stand to leave, Minerva casts me a meaningful look.  
  
"Severus," her hand rests on my forearm as I pass her. "a moment. I believe that I am done here." She gestures to her plate.  
  
I stare down at her with a scowl on my face, when she does appear detered, my hostility ebbs marginally. "Of course," I say to her.  
  
She places her napkin beside her plate as she says her good-byes. I watch her through my peripheral vision. Her face is an even facade of total calm that I can tell she does not feel. The slight twitches of anger at the outward points of her mouth give her away utterly.  
  
Minerva spins to face me once we've entered the hallway we use to enter the Hall. She casts a silencing spell around us before speaking to me, "For a spy, you were not as subtle as you'd like to presume you were being at the meals recently. You seem to be overly occupied with your lastest focus."  
  
I fight the insistant impulse to roll my eyes at my long-time friend and fellow professor.  
  
"Is it truly so important for her to give into hysterics over a few glances? I am allowed to observe the student body at meal times," I reason to myself.  
  
"Minerva, I do not see your point," I answer her aloud.  
  
"My point, _Severus_, is that she is a student."  
  
"I am expected to keep an eye on the students, _Minerva_."  
  
"Not in such a manner as I have seen you 'keeping an eye' on Miss Granger, _Severus_."  
  
"You make too much out of your mind's more creative scenarios. Do try to get some rest Minerva."  
  
I move to pass Minerva, but her hand closes around my arm once more.  
  
"Be cautious Severus. Be extremely cautious when attempting to test what is not yours to experiment with."  
  
I bring a hand to Minerva's and gently loosen her hold on my arm, "I shall have to keep that in mind. If you do not have any further motherly counsel to dispense, I will be retiring now."  
  
"Am I mistaken, or did you not have hall duty tonight?" she asks me, her curiosity evident on her face.  
  
"You know as well as I do that arrangements can be made. Goodnight Minerva." "Goodnight Severus."  
  
I continue past her into the main hallway. I have more enjoyable activities lined up for the evening.  
  
I smile inwardly, and hasten my steps to my office. "The sooner I finish the ointment, the faster I may return to my chambers," I indulge myself on the thought of my fair fiancee awaiting my arrival. "Adventurous or not, there is certainly something incredibly appealing about an eager participant." I dig my wand out my inside pocket to lower the wards surrounding my office, and unlock the door.  
  
I push the door in so that I can enter. I gaze around the room, and decide to set a few things out of order before the Granger girl comes to repeat the previously assigned tasks.  
  
I rush into my laboratory intent on finishing the ointment so that I may return to the dugeons to enjoy the exquisite woman who is lying in my bedchamber half naked by this time.  
**  
-  
  
TBC**


	4. When The Brainless Aren't

**Story Title: **Wicked

**Chapter Title: **When The Brainless Aren't (4/?)

**Chapter Rating:** PG-13 - for sexual references and a tiny curse word

**Warnings: **Small bit of sexual reference, and the word "whore" Not _that_ bad.

**Author's Notes: **I apologize that it took me so long to get this chapter up, but I have been spending a lot of time helping my aunt, without any chance to get out of her house lately. I did just get a computer to use all of the time, and maybe able to update sooner within the next couple of weeks once it's all set up. I hope that you enjoy this chapter. It explains why Snape's office description is no canon, and reveals some of Catherine's personality. Oh! I also updated the original author's note to include why I changed the details that I did. Too many inquiries. . . -Danielle

**-**  
  
I angle the broom into a corner underneath an old potions table that is pushed against the classroom's back wall. I try my best to keep my eyes on the floor, so that they will not wander over to the jars filled with dead animals and slimy liquids.  
  
"I should have left this work to someone else. Perhaps a snotty Slytherin," I mutter under my breath.  
  
I can hear the fluid scratch of his quill across parchment as he grades papers at the front of the classroom. I know that on the surface, he pretending to outright ignore me, but I am willing to plunk down serious Galleons in a bet that says otherwise. Every hair on my body seems to have lifted away from my skin, and taken on the persona of antennae. All of which, were sending the same electronically-charged message to my brain, he was, without a doubt, observing my every action.  
  
I wonder if this was a good sort of watching, and if any type of good observation existed at all with the professor I knew.  
  
I am certain that a man such as Professor Snape, does things for a reason. Nothing he would do would ever be said or done without thought, preparation, and cause. So, what was he planning for me?  
  
"Probably thinking of different methods of punishing me further," I answer my own question.  
  
I gather all the collected dust in the center of the room, and contemplate how to dispose of it. I briefly consider asking for a dustpan, but remember that such a Muggle invention is more than likely not to be on hand.  
  
Before I can open my mouth to ask what I should do with the results of my efforts, I hear him cast a simple cleaning spell, and a flash of light shoots past me to the dust pile..  
  
I turn to thank him, but am waved away.  
  
"You're finished. Go back to your dormitory," he dismisses me without even looking away from the paper he is grading.  
  
What, no declarations of lust? No, congratulations on all my hardwork? Part of me expects more after a whole evening of work and scrutinization. I press my lips closed as I walk to the classroom door.  
  
"He's watching," I think satisfied to myself. "That will make things easier for me."  
  
-  
  
I straighten another pillow on Severus' couch before perching on the edge of a cushion. Detention with the Ravenclaw twit should be over soon. The audacity of the girl. She is but a child. What made her believe that she could go about slamming my fiancee's door, and mouthing off the way she did?  
  
If it were up to me, she would be doing more than cleaning a classroom and laboratory. The insolent child would be given a shovel, and be made to clean up after Hagrid's pets. Or better, sent into the Forbidden Forest with no chance of return. That would teach her not to meddle in adult affairs. Little twit.  
  
I scoot back against the back of the couch, and pick up my cup of tea off of the end table beside me. I focus my gaze on the tray holding the teapot, Severus' teacup, along with the dressings of a proper tea tray that awaits Severus' arrival on the antique coffee table I bought at a Muggle auction house.  
  
I regard the biscuits with a hope that Severus will find them as delicious as I do. I did go all the way to my favorite bakery in Muggle London to purchase them. He should love them on principle alone.  
  
I strain my ears for any sounds of movement at the chambers' door.  
  
"Honestly! How long does it take to punish one itty bitty wayward child?!" I ask the empty room aloud.  
  
I hear the soothing tones of his voice before I sense his presense, "Too long."  
  
I look up into his dark eyes with something akin to true affection that grew from the faklse, planned love I started this relationship with.  
  
"Especially if it keeps me away from you," I tell him as I smile beguilingly.  
  
"Especially then. Am I correct in my belief that you managed to keep yourself occupied? Rearranging more of my quarters," his breath catches in his throat, and he looks into my eyes searchingly. ". . . _our_ quarters."  
  
I squint playfully and wring a girlish giggle from my throat, "You know it. I believe that I did an excellent job rearranging your office for you. I do not see why I should not clear out more of the icky clutter you were so fond of collecting."  
  
"_Were_ fond of collecting? No, my dear, _am_ fond of collecting. I have no intention of ridding myself of all my sentimental trinkets."  
  
"Sentimental trinkets? Severus, in no form if reality would I call old dead things floating in jars, or Dark spell books, or even those disgusting potion ingredients "sentimental trinkets". Are you trying to tell me that you hate the decorating I did in your office?"  
  
I harden my features and pretend to be genuienely upset over his opinion of my decorative skills. I watch him soften his expression to one of adoration, and feel his mind search mine for any reciprocal emotion. I project carefully crafted feelings of love, admiration, and disappointment on cue. I was not handpicked my true lover without him knowing he had choosen the absolute best for the task.  
  
Severus walks over to the couch, and sits next to me, taking my hands in his, as he has a practice of doing when we are alone, "Of course I appreciate your instinct for decor, but you cannot go about changing everything I own."  
  
I flutter my lashes and poke out my bottom lip, "I suppose that you are correct as always, Severus. I was only hoping to make this place more hospitable to a woman's taste if I am to live here. Even you must admit that this old castle is depressing and drafty, especially the dungeons. The whole place requires a woman's love and patience to mold it into any kind of a cozy and acceptable home."  
  
I rub my knee against his thigh, and my heart sparks in self-satisfaction. I am all too pleased with my rapid progress in the accelerating descent of Severus' highly guarded distrust of others. I pull my lips further apart into a wider grin, "That mistrust was there with good reason. It is a shame it will be too late when Severus discovers the knowledge of how he should not have trusted me as he did. How. . . tragic."  
  
I curl up to him, and inch my way into his lap. I purr my most seductive helpless kitten in need if love impression full force. He loves it when a woman begs. But then, he also loves it when I am tied to his bed, so, a bit of staged begging could hardly be seen as totally pathetic, when it is merely a tool to feed the agenda, and gain me access the marvelous side benefits Severus is always all too happy to part take in.  
  
"Mmmm. . . "  
  
I tuck my face into his neck to feel the moan vibrate his vocal cords. There is something about the vibrations of Severus' body that has always driven me to arousal within moments.  
  
"Some women may find him repulsive, but the stupid whores don't know what they have allowed to get away. Luckily, I am not among them, as I would be if it were not due to the current situation," I think happily.  
  
"I take it that you were waiting up for me?" he shifts his body so that he may look into my sapphire eyes.  
  
"Naturally. I thought of retiring early, but I thought better of it. I knew that you would be tense after having to deal with that. . . that. . . _student_, so, I wanted to assist you in easing some of the tension and annoyance away. Why, are you not pleased? I only wish to make you happy," I respond to the same ritualistic question he asks me everytime he stays out late on business with the proper adoring answer.  
  
"I am always pleased by your desire to assist me by any means you deem fit," he tell me while pulling my lower half flush against his so that I am straddled across his lap and facing him nose-to-nose.  
  
I raise a perfectly arched eyebrow at him before setting my tea cup back down on the end table and pressing my lips to his.  
  
"No," I plot to myself. "he will not see what is to come until it is too late to break the berth of the storm."  
  
I push Severus to lie back upon the couch, and the tea tray remains on the coffee table forgotten.  
  
-  
  
I can feel my heart pounding fearfully in my chest. I slam my trainers down on the paved walkway that crosses an open courtyard. I rush into the castle, anxious to get out of the unusually empty corridors.  
  
"Gods! Where is everyone??" I scream to the abandoned hallway.  
  
I round another corner, frantic to reach Ravenclaw Tower.  
  
_"They're coming!"_ a voice unseen shouts at me.  
  
My eyes jump from wall to wall in search of the tower's entrance. My breaths are hitching in panicked gasps. I can't find the door!  
  
My mind clogs with fear when I realize that no part of my surroundings look familiar to me.  
  
I can feel pricks of terror stabbing at me in a manner which I can only identify as foreboding.  
  
I can feel my enemies closing in on me. Daylight outside the hall's open windows has magically transformed into Night. That same foreboding instinct insists that it is an omen of what is coming for me.  
  
I somehow make my way to the entrance hall, and burst into the Great Hall in hopes of finding some type of help there. The fact that no one is anywhere near the Hall doesn't surprise me. I have been runing the entire length of the school without coming across a single living, or deceased, being.  
  
Suddenly, Enchanted Candles flicker on high above me close to the bewitch ceiling, which shows a black sky with no stars or moon shining out of the darkness.  
  
Loud, slow music blasts from every corner of the room at me, and shadows begin their dance. I have stumbled into a party.  
  
A deep, rumbling voice is saying something too low for me to make out. I strain my ears, and it is then that I hear it clearly.  
  
"Hermione. . . . Hermione. . . . You will come to me. Hermione. . . . "  
  
I hear no more of the threatening words when I gasp and clutch my chest as I awake without pretense.  
  
"Hermione," a comforting, worried voice calls my name, this time from inside my dormitory room.  
  
"Wh. . .what?" I mutter in my sleep-beaten stupor.  
  
"Hogwarts to Hermione. I've been calling you for 10 minutes already, which is fully astonishing to me, since, you are usually the first one up. You will be late for breakfast if you don't hurry," Olivia Johns eyes me suspiciously. "Is something the matter?"  
  
"Uhmm, no." I shake my head quickly and toss my covers away.  
  
"Well, you were moaning in your sleep. Anything interesting," Cho wiggles her eyebrows at me.  
  
I cringe inside when the other three girls joined in.  
  
"Like you wouldn't believe," I mumble as I tie on my bathrobe to head to the restroom to relieve myself.  
  
As I walk to the door, I ignore the taunts and inquiries of my roommates. I walk toward the restroom and sort through the images I saw.  
  
That dream felt more real than anything I had ever felt. It must have been some kind of warning, a premonition.  
  
I am not conviced that the dream is not simply a meaningless dream, and I make a mental note to ask Harry about dreams which contain solid clues. After all, he did have all those dreams about Voldemort's plans, and he always seems to have a better understanding of things than everyone else.  
  
I lock the stall door behind me after I squeeze into the cramped space, "Yes, I will find out what that dream means, even if it kills me."  
  
-**  
  
TBC**


	5. Revealed

**Story Title:** Wicked

**Chapter Title:** Revealed (5/?)

**Chapter Rating:** PG- for mention of Snape's completion, nothing major.

**Author's Notes:** Ok, this is yet another chapter where my story veers away from the books. A lot of the "adventures" that feature Hermione will feature my Original Female Character, Tabitha Reicher. She is the "Reicher girl" that Snape refers to in this chapter. I am trying to keep everything else canon though. Enjoy.

**-**

I finish washing in a hurry, spraying water and soap all over the floor. I reach for my wand to cast a cleaning spell, but remember that I hadn't thought to bring my wand with me when I returned to my dormitory to retrieve my uniform.

Before I can leave to get it, a whoosh of light speeds across the tiled floor. I look over my shoulder to identify my mystery helper, but am greeted by only a _pop_ and newly emptied space.

_"House-elves,"_ my brain tells me.

_"Something else," _my intuition assures me.

I dry off and dress in my school uniform with crisp precision. Nothing can be out of place, except for my unruly hair that is subbornly determined to live a life of its own. I chuckle to myself and brush a hand over my locks before I attack it with my hairbrush.

"If only it hung straighter, or was easier to tame even," I wish silently. "But it, in suit of my other faults, it is as stubborn to remain the same as always. My everlasting urge to study harder, when I could devour more than half the tests and assignments in my sleep, my need to control situations, yet seek out the comfort of others as equals, and my diasterous cravings for demented men are all signs of my stubborn willingness to go against what is most painless for me. What the hell is wrong with me?"

I prod my hair some more before finally giving up on it to head to breakfast. I consider my options for psychiatric help while my eyes roam the halls for a sighting of Harry, Ron, or _him_.

I am mildly disappointed when I spot him ascending the dungeons' stairwell with Catherine on his arm. There is no rational, non-sexual reason why she would be at Hogwarts looking downright orgasmic this early in the school day. She had slept over, and he was showing her off to the few students remaining in the entrance hall. He had to have known she would draw more out into the hall.

I know that he must be showing her off because Professor McGonagall told me that nearly all the fireplaces in the school were connected on the Floo network, and could be navigated in seconds. Even if she were off to Hogsmeade, or another teacher's office, she did not actually have to move through the halls themselves. Why else, then, would she be heading my direction with the falsest smile in existance plastered across her face?

"Hello, Hermione? Right?" the doll addresses me primly.

"Right," I smile, and a bit of my more predatory instinct creeps into my grin. "Caitlin, right?"

The plastic cheer does not waiver with even the slightest flinch. I am impressed.

"No, sweetie. It's _Catherine_. I suppose that you will have to see me around the castle more often so that we will be absolutely certain of one another's names."

I stop the snarl that fights to curl my lips, and rake my vocal cords.

As I open my mouth to reply with an equally sweet and biting remark, Professor Snape speaks up, asserting his presence, "Naturally, _you_ shall refer to my fiancee as MIss Sullivan until the time that she becomes Mrs. Snape. Then, you shall address her as such, Miss Granger."

I watch Snape's eyes flint to Catherine in what I would normally call adoration, but I am too slow to fully capture the essence of the look before it is masked behind a cold sneer of digust directed towards me. I can feel the venom in his eyes soak into my skin.

The blonde plaything beams merrily at me once more before she turns to Snape, "If you insist Severus. I must be along to Sibyll's to consult her about that dream I had last night."

"Of course," the object of my affection, and unfairly betrothed Potions professor responds, and squeezes the Usurper's hand, to ensure that I see their obvious, deep, souful bond.

I allow my irate eyes a small roll to the ceiling in protest to the sickening display.

The chipper annoyance gives me one last wave as she heads up the marble staircase to the North Tower. _He_ stares down his nose at me with the hint of a smirk ghosting across his mouth.

"See you at breakfast, Miss Granger," he stresses my name in a tone that makes it sound obscene and bullies me into silence.

I watch Snape's back move further away up the isle between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables to the staff table. It is only then that I finally notice the scene has had an audience from initial smile to final smirk. Every word that passed between us had been intercepted by a number of stunned students.

My mind sputtered and clawed at some form of logic. Why would he go to lengths to offend and embarass me? More importantly, why he had done it in such a public place? He surely could have waited until later to belittle me in front of his fiancee, but why other students? He must know that breakfast will not end without the entire school being aware of the incident, plus whatever details and speculation that is thrown in by the gossip feeders.

_"Nothing without a reason. . . "_ my mind whispers to me cryptically.

I realize that it is correct as I hold my head up stiffly while passing the gawking onlookers. Let them stare.

My eyes shoot to the Gryffindor table, and catch both Ron and Harry in their gaze. They both give weak, encouraging smiles accompanied by small waves. I notice that Ginny Weasley is, however, looking at me with an wary, appraising glint in her eyes as I wave back to Harry and Ron.

I take my usual seat next to Cho and Orla Quike and begin to dig into the morning's offereings of porridge, kippers, and pumpkin juice.

_"All secrets will reveal themselves in honest time. . . "_ my head hisses.

"That they shall," I answer confidently, spooning sugar into my bowl.

**-  
**  
I waste neither time, nor backwards glance when I exit the Hall to prepare for my first class. I have a double period of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw first years. The newest Hufflepuffs are neurotic in attempts to complete their assignments at best, and all-out clueless neanderthals who do not possess the ability to pick out the subtle distinction between a common beetle's and cockroach's legs. Truly pathetic.

They are already showing promise of fitting example-making material. Though not as enjoyable as reprimanding a bratty bunch of Gryffindors, they are easy pickings to amuse me until the wizarding world renowned Gryffindor classes arrived for today's lesson.

I finish setting out the ingredients for the Boil Cure potion. I pick idly at a porcupine quill while my mind drifts back to the confrontation outside the Great Hall. I know that I had to defuse any rumors or notions of impropriety between she and I, but a faint ache of guilt is thudding against my heart with every beat. The confusion and hurt that etched noticeable creases into the cervices of her attractive face gnaws at me.

I know, with more certainity than Flich knows where to find the next troublemaker, that perhaps, Minerva is correct after all. Though the mental ploys and fantasies are not affecting the efficiency with which I instruct my classes, nor does it wholly interfer with my spying duties, the unhealthy desires have already worked their way in my love life. I nearly called out Hermione's name last night, and had to bite into Catherine's shoulder to muffle the cry.

I know that I could have let Catherine Floo to Trelawney's, as is her usual method of travel to visit her delusional friend, but I insisted that she walk upstairs with me instead. I am sure she felt proud to have "gotten me" to publically showcase my fondness of her to the entire school, but she does not know that I intended for two different women to see us together.

The first, and most importantly, Minerva. I would rather avoid another one of her talks, no matter how accurate they may be. No, _particularly_ because of how accurate they are. I do not need yet another Gryffindor poking around in my personal concerns. Dumbledore is already much more than I can stomach at times. He means well, but I do not have to value every single personal inquiry.

The second, naturally, being Granger herself. She can have her school girl infatuations all she likes, but she needs to see the type of woman I could wonsider worthy of warming my bed on a long term basis. Catherine may act like a bit of a twit sometimes, but she is also a golden strategic asset.

That is to be expected when one's uncle is the English Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge. I knew from the moment Fudge mentioned her four years ago, while here for Sirius Black's apprehension, that I had to meet her, and take advantage of her bloodline and connections within the Ministry.

Though her blood is not as pure as mine, she certainly has managed to become extremely well connected in the Ministry due to her relation with Fudge, and her own social finesse. The Order could use every foothold in the Ministry, as I could use her to exercise my own plans.

I grew close the night Sirius was to be punished properly by way of Dementor's Kiss, but Potter and that damned Reicher girl foiled my heroic efforts, _somehow_. I have my suspicions and theories, but I could never prove any of them.

I planned to use that Order of Merlin to polish my name. Perhaps gain increased favor in the wizarding community, but it was not to be.

Now, I have spent the better part of the last two years capturing one of wizarding England's polite Society's darlings in my grasp. Her good name, and my maneuvering, should present me with prime Defense Against the Dark Arts, or direct Dark Arts, teaching positions, openings for advancement inside the Ministry itself when I retire from teaching, and Heaven knows what else when I am through.

Not only this, I personally believe it must be driving Lucius mad that I am sleeping with his mistress. They think themselves covert, but anyone with the common sense of broccoli, and functioning eyesight, can see the secretive snatches of lust in their eyes when they are anywhere near one another.

Yes, she thinks me blind, and herself a mistress of Occlumency, but I have been delved within manipulative ministrations, and the art of Legilimency, longer than she has been in existance. I see most, if not all, that she tries to conceal, and I have every intention of using my knowledge to my advantage.

After all, there is nothing quite like the taste of a victory won through deception and careful plotting. Catherine, and her married lover, will soon learn this by my hand.

I hear the chattering of the waiting students grow louder in their anxiety. I always prefer to keep them waiting and uncertain of the day's lesson, and my mood for the day, not that I have taken to displaying anything other than distaste for them or absolute agitation at the renewed levels of stupidity they reach with each class period.

But, I must be vigilant about weeding out the imbeciles from those who may possess even the brief glimmer of hope to go on to master Potions. I feel no need to waste my talents on the unworthy.

Yes, only those who can bounce back from an upset truly deserve to be taught the graces of potion making.

Sighing deeply, and irritated that I do not have a choice in the matter of who I will, or will not, teach until after the O.W.L.s, I walk to the dungeon door and swing it open.

I notice without pause, that Annabelle Appleby is being crowded against a rough stone wall by three tomboyish female bullies from my House. The bang of the door against the wall behind it draws every students' attention to me, the way I like things to be.

"What have we here? First semester at Hogwarts, and we are already fighting Miss Appleby?" I tsk at her over the ruffled heads of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw bystanders. "That will be ten points from Hufflepuff."

She sputters to explain herself through her already hindering stutter.

"Bu. . . bu. . .but, s. . .sir! I. . . . I . . . . I. . . . wa. . . . wasn't f. . . fighting," her eyes plead mercy from mine.

A memory of her laughing and talking with Potter floats behind my gaze. She's as good as Gryffindor to me.

"Silence! Or it shall be another five points from Hufflepuff. I should report you to Professor Sprout," I turn and storm into my classroom as an indication that my students are to follow.

I pretend that I do not hear the groans of fustration, the meek protests, nor the pats of encouragement given to the shaken girl. I do, however, allow my ears the pleasure of indulging in the angry snarls behind my back that state how mean and wretched I am.

"Of course I am," I glow inwardly. "Everyone else here will coddle the entire lot of you pipsqueaks, and lull you into believing sub-par work is acceptable. Well, not Minerva, or that dreadful Umbridge woman. But Umbridge is long gone, and Minerva has been known to lay into her Gryffindors worse than I do, and _that_ is saying something."

I walk to the chalkboard and tap my wand against it, making the day's lesson appear upon it instantly.

"Today, you will be making a Boil Cure potion. Now get to work."

I scowl at everyone for good measure as I settle at my desk at the front of the classroom. Can't having them thinking I am all too willing to be soft on them, now can I?

**-**

TBC  



	6. The Past Isn't

**Author:** DMitchell1985

**Story Title:** Wicked

**Chapter Title:** The Past Isn't (6/?)

**Chapter Rating:** PG-13 - for small bit of cursing

**Author's Notes:** I now have a new beta for "Wicked" who is going to help whip this story into form. There should less errors from now on. Thanks Lauren.

**-**

**The dead never truly leaves us, not if we don't forget them. -Unknown**

**  
**I stare down at the quote at the top of the page of the Muggle weekly planner my mum has sent me.

_The dead never truly leaves us. . . _

The words glare back at me, ripe with rightful accusation. I am determined to stare back at the black words, not willing to let them get to me. Not me. Never me.

Seconds tick by unnoticed, and I am unable to hold my gaze steady. It is the conscious of guilt that sways my sight. I look away when I feel pain stab into my eyes. I am unclean, but I got what I wanted, and is that not what matters? I achieved my goal. _I_ am Harry's close friend, not her. Not anymore. I even have Ron back.

She liked Ron. I could tell. I saw her love, not lust, never anything as base as _lust_, but love in her eyes for him. She loved him, and I believe that he was beginning to realize this. I saw the secretive glances and the hand holding. I am not blind.

It was this shifting of Ron's emotions from me to her which sealed her fate.

I could not stand to watch Perfect Little Miss anymore. Everything from the way she was casually feminine to how effortlessly she played Quidditch on the Gryffindor House team nearly drove me to madness. What's worse is that she made an excellent Beater swift, yet brutal when absolutely necessary.

I still remember her tryout. I had hid in the stands to watch them last year. Andrew Kirke had given up on being a Gryffindor Beater, even though they had won the Quidditch House Cup the previous year. This was despite having Harry, Fred Weasley, and George Weasley thrown off the team by Umbridge.

I had been extremely hopeful that my fifth year would belong to Ravenclaw on the Quidditch pitch. I imagined the glory of joining a swelling Ravenclaw crowd to hoist our team triumphantly into the air. Yet somehow, Weasley had come through for his new rag-tag team to help Gryffindor win. By some almost unfathomable miracle, Weasley had managed to stop a goal. Along with the next 14.

So there I sat, elbows upon knees, as I hunched down on the lowest bench hoping not to be noticed. My eyes found themselves glued to the zooming figures high above me. Tabithia Reicher appeared to be little more than a moving dot to me then, as I am sure that I did to her. But she stood out among the other Beater hopefuls.

Tabithia made it a habit to set herself apart when immersed within a crowd. Whether it be with a vibrant fushia hair decoration or a seemingly scandelous affair with a Hufflepuff two years her senior, Tabithia found a way to shine. That day was certainly not a pause in the monotonous parade of flashy colors, plenty of money, and witty barbs.

On the outside, I pretended to adore her as the other mindless students did. Inside, I seethingly admired and despised her attractive qualities. Inside, I felt a hate I had never known twist and gash at my stomach that demanded to be acknowledged, relieved, and _fed_. This ever present loathing drank in that day's sunny orange robes, and howled to be sated in some manner. Tabithia needed to be brought down.

Hideous, half-formed methods of torture and killing swept behind my eyes as I watched her fly gracefully. Her method of flight stood out, yet it was still entwined with the other players with an almost feral strength that tested the males applicants' ability to withstand her.

Harry, being the last remaining player on the team with the most seniority, had been naturally been made Captain. He had several tryouts to oversee that day. Harry had rightfully reclaimed his position of Seeker when his Quidditch ban was lifted. Weasley had stayed on as Keeper, and Jack Sloper retained his position as Beater.

With three Chaser positions open, one Beater spot up for grabs, and an alternative Seeker place to be filled, most, if not all, of Gryffindor Tower arrived at the Quidditch pitch, ready for action. Those who were not trying out took to the stands, cheering on their friends. It had been a long time since so many positions were open for filling.

Harry's control and direction of the tryouts was organized and absolute, just as his D.A. lessons were taught. He arranged for the Seekers to go first, since, there was so few trying out for Alternative Seeker. Second, went the Beater bids. Last, came the gaggle of would-be Chasers. More than fifteen people opted to go after the three Chaser spots.

My dulled senses perked when it was Tabithia's turn to first avoid being hit by a Bludger, and then demonstrate her skill using it, and her bat, effectively. Both her flying and Beater skills were in top form. She breezed past the competition without a grimace of concern settling on her features. She was flawless.

Once she had been declared the new Gryffindor Beater, Tabithia took in the surrounding stadium. With Seeker-worthy precision, Tabithia spotted me in the stands below.

I do not believe that I shall ever rid myself of the memory of her face beaming at me with such exuberance while I ached inside to bash her teeth in. If only.

Tabithia hovered on broomstick in front of me, smiling at me as though I was her best friend. In some facets, I know that she was my best friend, but she was my pledged enemy as well. I always knew which side would win out.

Tabithia had chatted excitedly with me about her tryouts, and what the new status would mean to her. I had faked a few nods, laughs, and sisterly hugs before feigning cramps in a desperate attempt to discontinue any further direct contact with her. There was plotting to be done, but Tabithia had been so damned concerned for my welfare. Typical Gryffindor weakness. I sometimes called it her Motherly Impulse when she fretted about those around her. I truly believe that one can care too much about others. Tabithia fell squat into this dreaded category.

That particular conversation on a warm, dying Summer's day a year ago haunted my sleep every night after her murder. Though her assumed death following her unexplained disappearance was never officially identified as such, I knew the truth. I would know the truth, because I orchestrated her delivery into waiting Death Eater hands. I may not be able to first-handedly commit murder, but I can surely resolve myself through the use of others. Whoever says that books and cleverness can only lead to hundreds of hours in the library and answering questions perfectly has not truly experienced the power of being prepared.

My guilt surged at the indignity of the memory. The girl had been a good person, if not an annoyance, but no part of me could stand to witness her glowing happiness. No part of me that was still aching from my disastrous break up with Gregory Goyle earlier that day.

Draco Malfoy had somehow finally figured out that the girl Gregory had been sneaking out at night to see was me. I still remember the cold look of contempt that radiated Malfoy's hate for me throughout his entire body.

Though he deemed me useful when supplying his father with necessary virgin sacrifices for his Dark magic, he still thought of me as Mudblood filth. Apparently, finding out that one of your Pureblood best friends since childhood was secretly dating someone not of the same stature was clearly unthinkable, and most definitely, unacceptable in any form.

My mind replayed Malfoy's cornering of me in a hallway outside of the library during a break on an unbroken loop. With every turn of the memory, my skin shivered in yet another bout of glacial fear with the icy sweat to match.

_"I'll get you for this Mudblood,"_ his words never failed to return to me. _"Leading Goyle astray for a quick, dirty shag wherever you could manage it. You'll pay for this Granger. You'll see."_

His nasty words still held the slimy venom of the day he had spoken them. There was no doubt that he meant them. I could not discern why he had waited so long to take his revenge. Sure, there had been minor incidents, name calling, and the exchange of hexes that year, but nothing had occurred which could be completely pegged as Malfoy's revenge.

My stiff legs throbbed for a thorough stretching after being seated in the library for so long working on today's homework, and traipising through bitter memories. I stood up to balance on my toes and allow my whole body to smooth out its muscule kinks.

My scratchy eyes were drawn to the high windows along the wall to judge how long I had been here. I arrived just after dinner around 5:30 P.M. Daylight's Savings Time has not yet taken effect, so, it was not completely dark outside. I placed the time to be around 7 or so in the evening.

I slowly gather my books, parchment, ink well, and quills into my bag as my eyes scanned the other occupants of the room. All of the usual studiers appeared to be present. My mind continued to churn with Malfoy's words and Tabithia's tryout. Not until my eyes land on the most unlikely library occupant did my mind withdraw from its masochistic ruminations.

_Gregory Goyle._

What would he be doing here?

Sensing my raising desperation, I sling my considerate load onto my back as I walk to the door, hoping that I am the picture of serenity. Though I am certain of my affections for _him_, my heart stubbornly flutters at Gregory's presence.

I weave through tables and bookshelves to make my exit as quickly as humanly possibly. I hear a loud scrape of a chair against the floor, and the impatient huffing of Madame Pince. Could he be following me?

I do not dare allow myself such hope. That would be detrimental. Why bother? I tell myself that it is some other student leaving at the same time as me.

I escape to freedom in the corridor outside of the library. I lengthen my strides so that I will be away from the library, and closer to the West wing of the school sooner. I hear footsteps mirror my pace as I cut around a sharp corner. I throw back a small glance to see who would be pursuing me. I sigh in relief when I see there is no one behind me and no footsteps can be heard.

I scurry up the hall to a flight of stairs, but decide that I would prefer a calming walk along the grounds before heading back to the common room. I also consider a short visit to Hagrid's.

I round another corner to enter a passage that leads to the entrance hall. As if in slowed reality, I collide with something muscular and unyielding. My body bounces off of what I have hit to land against the stone wall to my right.

As I bounce sideways to the wall, I feel a piece of paper being discreetly shoved into my open hand. Without thinking, my palm closes around the parchment.

Once I have regained my footing, my gaze rises to meet none other than Gregory Goyle. Only this time, Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe are in attendance. It is Malfoy who speak first, as usual.

"So Mudblood, just can't keep your filthy little hands off of our Goyle. Was it so good that you insist on coming back for more?" Malfoy paused for effect while Crabbe guffawed stupidly as loudly as he could.

I notice that Gregory does not immediately join in on the revelry. When he finally does, it seems forced.

"That would have been ten points from Ravenclaw if Umbridge were still here," Malfoy continued. "Oh, why not? And ten more for that ugly hair of yours too. Now move along like a good little Mudblood to your _common_ room. I would hate to have to assign you a detention." Malfoy stressed the word 'common' to be certain that I knew what he thought of my House too.

Malfoy snickered viciously, amused with his own supposed cleverness. Crabbe joined his friend in laughter once again, but Gregory did not.

I stare after their retreating figures, dumbfounded, until they disappeared down the hall to the door which led to the dungeons. I do not know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. I settle for all three, which comes out as a high-pitched, gurgled sob.

My mind darts back to the parchment I am still clutching in my hand. I unball my clamped fingers to release the piece of paper. My eyes scan the page in disbelief. _  
_

_Hermione, _

I have not gone a day without thinking  
about you. I still love you, and miss  
our forbidden moonlit walks, and the  
inevitable kisses. Meet me by the  
Whomping Willow tomorrow at  
midnight. Please?

G.G.

I reread the note several times to be sure of what I am reading. Questions jumble in my ming, demanding to be answered.

_Why did he want to see me? Why not at our former usual spot on the far side of the lake? Why now? What about Malfoy?_

Every question had merit, and deserved their companion answers. I knew that I could get them tomorrow at midnight, but did I dare risk getting caught, or this being a trick. How would I ever live down the humiliation if it was a trick?

I marched to the giant oak doors with more determination than ever to have that soothing walk across the grounds before I retired for the evening.

I crunched my way through the grass to the seemingly bottomless lake. The dark jewel of Hogwarts' landscape winked at me in the setting sun.

_Why?_

The question repeated in my head as many of my thoughts had the tendency to do.

I walked the length of the lake until I reached Gregory and I's usual destination. I knew this was also the place where Sirius Black, Harry, and possibly Tabithia nearly all met their deaths at the hands of Dementors over three years ago. Everyone knew the story.

I decided that information was information, and it could help me resolve many a gaping hole in my heart. This did not mean that I had to openly walk into a trap.

As I made up my mind to ask Harry for his Invisibility Cloak, I spotted a shaded figure down at the water's edge.

Believing that Gregory had decided to come a day, and many hours, early, I called out to him softly.

"Greg?"

The figure straightened immediately to face me. At first, the figure was too far away from me to be sure, but the long matted black hair indicated that this was not Gregory at all, but someone more sinister.

Panic began to well into terror within my chest. I turned to run back to the school to alert whoever I could find.

In mid-turn, a voice croaked out to halt my flight, "Wait, please!"

Dark wizards and dangerous beasts did not normally say 'Please.' I shifted my body to see who exactly had addressed me.

The figure pushed his shaggy hair away from his face to allow the fading daylight to fall upon his face as he stepped closer to me.

My mind struggled against the instant recognition. It could not be! He died! Harry told me that he _saw_ him die.

"Sirius?" my voice cracked under my desire to keep it steady. "Sirius Black?"  
**  
-**

**TBC **


End file.
